Return To Innocence
by Slytherin Godess
Summary: Harry is suffering at the Dursley's the summer after GOF and when he has lost all hope of being saved, someone unexpected shows up.... WARNING!! This will be SLASH


Return to Innocence  
  
Part I  
  
Hell is For Children   
  
  
DISCLAMER - I don't own anything but the plot. Harry and Co. belong to JK Rowling, and the song, Hell is For Children is by Pat Benitar.  
  
Authors Note - This chapter is dedicated to my wonderful BETA and friend, Strega Brava. She went through this and cleaned it all up, pointing out plot holes and giving suggestions. All in all.. this fic wouldn't be as good as it is if it weren't for her. Thanks SB!!! Now, please review!! I live off reviews *grin* and please note that this version is the .txt one... 'cause my computer has issues. The HTML version will be up some time this week!  
  
  
  
  
  
At number 4 Privet Drive, Harry Potter was lying on his bed in the darkness of his room and staring up at the little bit of ceiling he could make out. He was wearing nothing but an over-large pair of drawstring pants, and he was so thin, that his ribs stuck out of his chest in a frightening manner. His glasses lay on the bedside table, broken in three places. Hedwig's cage sat near the boarded window, empty.  
  
At the foot of Harry's tiny bed was the entrance to the outside world. A world where Uncle Vernon could be heard wheezing as he walked up and down the stairs and where Aunt Petunia could be heard spoiling her over-large son, Dudley. Harry had lost track of the time, but he assumed it had been about a month since he had returned from Hogwarts. His uncle was suspiciously civil on the drive home, Harry remembered, but as soon as he walked through the door, he was dragged up into the tiny room. Luckily, Hedwig had been out delivering a letter to Sirius, and so her empty cage had been thrown into the room after him, and the newly installed metal door was promptly slammed shut.  
  
Harry went two weeks without food, and with minimal water. He was made to relieve himself in a large iron bowl, which had sat in the corner of his room for a week, until the Dursley's had finally gotten whiff of the horrible stink, and made him empty it. After another week of starvation, the Dursley's had started shoving small amounts of food into a sliding panel that was located on the bottom of the door, alongside a bowl of water. Once he began eating again, the Dursley's allowed him into the small bathroom at the end of the hall, where he was allowed to relieve himself nightly, and shower three times a week.  
  
All in all, Harry was feeling as if the world had rejected him. Each day passed by so slow, that after a while, an hour seemed like days to him. He was slowly wasting away, and no one seemed to care. Harry headed towards the direction of the metal door as he heard the latch pushed open. His meager meal was being pushed into the room, along with a bowl of water.   
  
The food was not food in the truest sense, but some sort of tasteless mush. Harry didn't care. It was close enough. Harry knew enough to not gulp his food down at once; it would make him horribly sick. He took two small bites of the mush, and a sip of the water,  
before carrying them shakily to his bedside table, and setting them onto it carefully. He felt his way onto the bed and, as he burrowed himself under his inadequate blanket, he felt sick. The food was already getting to him.  
  
He closed his eyes, and willed sleep to come upon him.  
  
***  
  
When he woke up, about two hours later, he felt a bit better. He sat up carefully, and felt around for the mush. He slurped it down slowly, before taking another sip of his water. He lay back down and looked up into the darkness, and Cedric Diggory's voice appeared in his head, followed by an image of the boy's face.  
  
'You killed me!' The Cedric in Harry's head said, hatefully.  
  
Harry muffled a sob, and turned his head into his pillow, but Cedric's face appeared once more against his closed eyelids, taunting him, paining him, leering at him.   
  
With tears seeping under his closed eyelids, Harry fell into a light, horror-filled sleep.  
  
***  
  
Light, very bright light. Too bright! Harry thought, as bright white light assaulted his senses. Harry whimpered and buried his head under the cover. He was awake, the pain told his as much. He couldn't figure out what was going on though. The Dursley's would never let him out of his dungeon during the day.   
  
With his hands clamped over his eyes, he rolled off the bed, and stumbled over towards the source of light. He tripped over something and fell. His Seeker instincts kicked in and he threw his hands out in front of him to break his fall. But he was so weak that both of his wrists snapped when he hit the floor. He cried out in pain and lay limp on the floor, his eyes still clamped firmly shut, thinking he was going to die...he was in so much pain. Strong arms lifted him gently off the ground, and he felt himself being cradled in an embrace that smelled of pine, herbs, and something else. Something masculine.  
  
The man who held him carried him down the stairs and set him on what felt like the couch in the parlour, the one he was never allowed to sit on. The man gently picked up one of  
Harry's thin, fractured wrists, and cursed softly. The pain and his hunger drowned out all other questions he may have asked at any other time, and he whimpered again. The man said something Harry didn't quite catch, and the pain in his wrists diminished, until it disappeared completely. He marveled at this for a second, before lapsing into a sort of numb state of mind, and sank back onto the couch, sleep falling upon him once more.  
  
The last thing Harry heard before falling into unconsciousness was the deep voice of this man, his savior, damning all Muggles to Hell.  
  
***  
  
Harry rolled over on his bed, not wanting to open his eyes and return to his hell again. He clutched the fur blanket, and sneezed as one of the feathers from his pillow tickled his nose. Harry's eyes popped open. He did not have a feather pillow. Or a fur blanket.   
  
He rolled back over, and looked up. There was a lot of green. Too much green, in Harry's opinion. Harry began to remember what had taken place at the Dursley's house. He looked down at his wrists, and saw that they were swollen, but no longer broken. He blinked. Another odd thing; he could see. He felt his face, but his glasses weren't there. That was most definitely odd, for Harry was almost blind without them.  
  
He sat up slowly, for he was incredibly weak, and looked around the room he was in. He realized that there was so much green because he was lying in a large canopy-like bed. To his left were three large bookcases and a door. To his right were two large Victorian style windows, and an oak desk. On the wall directly in front of him was a fireplace, and in front of the fire stood a man.  
  
The man had his back to Harry, but his billowing black robes, and shoulder-length black hair was all Harry needed to see to tell who it was.  
  
"Professor Snape?" He asked, horrified to hear his voice crack like a broken record.   
  
The man, who was indeed Harry's dreaded Potions Professor turned around slowly. "Finally awake, I see," he said.  
  
Harry pulled at the lining of the blanket, suddenly nervous. "Er.. how long was I out, then, sir?"  
  
Snape turned back to the fire, and sighed. "Three days, Potter." Harry blinked in amazement. "How are you feeling? Hungry I suppose."  
  
"I am, actually." Harry replied, nervously.  
  
"I figured you would be. You look as though you haven't eaten properly in weeks."  
  
"Not since the Leaving Feast, sir." Harry said quietly, looking down at the blanket. Snape turned around and looked at him, his eyes softening.  
  
"What would you like then?"  
  
"Whatever is convenient for you, sir. I don't much care." Snape sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose.  
  
"All right then. I'll be back," he said, before leaving the room, his cloak billowing behind him.   
  
Harry lay back down, and waited for Snape to bring him something to eat, all the while thinking he was happy not to be at the Dursley's anymore, even if he was residing with his least favourite professor. He smiled slightly though, happy to know that the great Albus Dumbledore cared about him enough, to save him from the hell he had been living in.  
  
Snape entered the room again, carrying a silver platter, on which he had placed a pitcher of something, and a variety of foods. He magicked a small table near the edge of the bed, and placed the platter carefully onto it, and sat in a chair about three feet away. Harry crept over to the food, his mouth watering at the smell of potatoes and roast beef. Snape stood back up and poured butterbeer from the pitcher into a green glass.   
  
While Harry ate, Snape stood near the fire, looking into the black flames, seemingly entranced. Harry finished rather quickly, and looked over to the professor. Harry was confused, because the normally nasty professor was being civil. Kind  
even. Harry crawled back over to the pillow, and nestled himself under the blankets, feeling as though he had eaten his fill, for the first time in a month. His eyelids drooped heavily, and Harry allowed himself to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.  
  
***  
  
Harry awoke again, and felt very odd. He sat up, trying to place the odd feeling. He looked down and scraped a bit of potato off his sleeve. Then he remembered. He was full. For the first time in weeks, he woke up not feeling hungry. Deciding to find Professor Snape, he got up slowly, and stumbled his way to the door. He opened it slowly, and stuck his head out cautiously. It was a hallway. A very dark hallway.   
  
As he walked, however, the candles on either side of him burst into flame, and lit his way. He walked past five doors before coming to a fork. To his left was another hallway, looking even longer than the one he was currently in, and to his right was a short little hallway, leading to a large wooden door. For some reason, he decided to go to the wooden door. He opened it slowly, waiting to see if light was going to come blasting through. None did, however, and Harry gathered it was either night or just the entrance to another room.  
  
He pulled the heavy door all the way open, and stepped through it, closing it carefully behind him. He found himself in a beautiful garden. It was mainly grass and small ponds, but here and there were clumps of beautiful flowers. About ten feet away from him stood a magnificent weeping willow. It was indeed night, and the only source of light was the full moon, which smiled down upon him.  
  
As he had been walking for quite some time, his weakened body was protesting, and he felt ready to collapse. He stumbled over to the willow tree, and collapsed on the soft grass. He lay there, panting, and started when he heard Snape's voice.  
  
"Potter?"  
  
Professor Snape was sitting just a foot away, on a stone bench, looking at Harry pensively. Harry couldn't reply, for he was shaking madly, and sweat was dripping down his face. Waves of heat rolled over his body, and his sight flickered madly. His breathing became laboured, and he curled himself into a ball, panting heavily, feeling as though he was dying.   
  
"What's happening to me?" he managed to croak out.  
  
Snape strode over to Harry, and kneeled at his side. He said "Lumos" to his wand, and peered down at Harry's face. Harry opened his eyes to see a concerned expression flitting across the professor's face.   
  
"Damn," Snape muttered.   
  
Harry closed his eyes and called out in pain as the heat abruptly left his body, leaving him cold as ice, and he could feel his body going numb.   
  
The professor sat down in the grass, and pulled Harry into his lap, wrapping his arms around the boy, and covering him with his robes, trying to keep him warm. Harry clasped his shaking arms around Snape's back, not caring that he was holding onto his least favourite professor. He just wanted to be warm. Within seconds, the heat descended upon him again, and he broke out in sweat.  
  
After putting his wand in his mouth, Snape stood up, lifting Harry carefully. He walked quickly back to the wooden door, and blasted it open, not with his wand, Harry faintly noticed, but with his mind. He pretty much ran down the corridor, and was just entering the green room when the heat left his body, and he began to go numb again, from the icy cold that permeated his entire body.  
  
Snape lay Harry on the bed, hastily, and covered him with several warm blankets, followed by three heating charms, all in a row. He then dashed to a cupboard, cleverly concealed in the wall, and opened it. Inside was one of the most impressive stores of  
potions ingredients in all of Britain, but at that moment, Snape didn't take the time to run his hands lovingly over the bottles and vials as he normally would have. He pulled a silver cauldron from the bottom of the cupboard, and carefully removed four vials, three packages of herbs, and a foggy looking glass ball.   
  
By this time, Harry had broken out in sweat again, and was struggling weakly with the heavy blankets, trying to get them off his burning body. Snape hurried over to Harry, pulled off the blankets, removed the heating charms, and replaced them with cooling charms. He then went back to his cauldron, lighting a non-spreading fire beneath it, and emptied two of the vials into it, followed soon after by one of the packets. He pulled out his wand and stirred the cauldron three times clockwise. He then tossed in the two other packets, and another vial of liquid. He murmured an incantation and the potion went from a murky green color to a brilliant gold. He quickly emptied the last vial into the potion, and went over to Harry.  
  
Harry was shivering again, and his skin had a blue tinge to it. Snape placed the blankets over him again, and removed the cooling charms. He rushed over to the potion, which was simmering nicely, and he levitated it over to Harry's bedside. He picked up the foggy glass ball, and threw it into the potion. He quickly covered Harry's sensitive eyes as a blast of golden light shone from the cauldron. It quickly faded, leaving a ruby red substance in its wake.  
  
He conjured a glass with his wand, and poured a small amount of the potion into it. Harry, who had been watching the happenings in a fazed sort of way, obediently opened his mouth, and swallowed the potion. He screamed in pain as the scalding fluid entered his body, like liquid fire. He started coughing and his eyes filled with tears.   
  
As suddenly as it had come, the pain was gone, and Harry fell back on the pillow, panting heavily. His body was neither hot nor cold, but his pulse was racing. He looked up at the professor, who was not even looking at the boy, but pouring the remainder of the potion into vials.   
  
" You must take this potion every hour until it is gone." Snape said in a detached voice. "It won't hurt like it did this time, but it isn't going to be very wonderful." He stoppered the last vial, and with a wave of his wand, he sent them flying onto a shelf nearby. He turned to look at Harry, who was shaking, and very pale.  
  
"Professor... what happened?"   
  
Snape sighed, and massaged his temples. "You've had a reaction to the abuse you received while living with your aunt and uncle. It's a reaction that only happens to wizards, and very few of them. It isn't very common, thank Merlin." Harry nodded, still confused. "You will need to take this potion once a month, every month, to control it. I don't think  
Dumbledore or myself ever expected this to happen to you for another year.   
Harry's mind was an amazing jumble of information and confusion. He was exhausted, and thirsty. He sighed heavily, and looked up from the corner of the blanket he had been picking at, to the professor. "Sir, if it is uncommon, how is it that you know about it?"  
  
Snape's eyes blazed angrily, and Harry winced, knowing he had gone a bit too far in asking the Potion's Master how he knew of a rare potion.   
  
"Potter, am I or am I not the Potions Master?" he snapped, all former compassion gone. "And for your information, I was the one who created it." With a huff, he stormed off, leaving Harry to puzzle over all he now knew.  
  
With his mind whirling, and his throat parched, he snuggled under the blankets, and once again, fell asleep.  
  
***  
  
Once again Harry woke up in the green room. He rubbed his eyes with clenched fists and looked around the room blearily. Once again, he was wondering how it was possible that he could see without any glasses. After a tussle with the sheets, he was out of the bed, and shivering in front of the fire. It was so cold, and the black flames did little to warm him. He looked down at his body, and frowned. It was no wonder he was freezing, he was wearing nothing but a pair of Dudley's thin draw-string pants.  
  
Next to him was a wooden chair, and on it were a pair of black drawstring pants and a gray sweatshirt, a pair of socks, and undergarmenst. He slipped them on hurriedly, and, as he was still chilly, went over to the wardrobe and retrieved a green scarf with silver snakes embroidered on it. He didn't give it much thought, however, and, wrapping it around his neck, went over to the widow.   
  
It was still dark out, and the moon was shining dully through the wisps of clouds that ineffectively covered her silver rays. Beneath him was the back garden, and under the lone weeping willow, Snape lay on his back, looking up at the night sky through its branches. Harry looked around the green room, and quickly decided to go outside and join the professor.  
  
He slipped out of the room and down the long hallway. He stopped in front of the door, and paused. Would Snape be angry with him? Harry shrugged. Knowing what he knew about Snape, he probably would be, but after a couple weeks of no one to talk to but himself, he wouldn't mind talking with the disagreeable man. He took a deep breath, and pushed open the door, striding out into the night.  
  
He walked cautiously towards Snape, but the man did nothing to acknowledge him. Harry came up behind him, and put his hands into the pockets of his pants, toeing the ground nervously. There was no sound but for the wind and the rustling of small creatures scurrying through the bushes. Suddenly, however, Snape spoke up, very quietly.   
  
"She was my one true friend, Potter."  
  
Harry looked down at Snape, but the man was looking up at the stars.   
  
"Who?" he asked, slowly.  
  
"Your mother."  
  
Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm his suddenly racing heart, and closed his eyes.   
  
"Tell me about my mum, please?" Harry asked in a shaky, inquiring tone.  
  
Snape sighed and closed his eyes. "She was wonderful. She was perfect. Everyone loved her. I don't think anyone ever hated her. Even Lucius Malfoy couldn't find anything wrong with her, despite the fact she was muggleborn. She was the sister I never had," he opened his eyes, abruptly, looking into Harry's face. "I loved her, Potter." He closed his eyes again.  
  
"She kept me from darkness so long. I would have been dead if it weren't for her. She was the light at the end of my tunnel. She kept me alive when I should have been long dead."  
  
Harry sat down, not a foot away from Snape, listening intently. "She told your father to save me from Lupin. He only did it because he loved her, and she told him that if he didn't go save me, she would." Harry looked down at the ground and pulled a piece of grass up from the damp earth and started pulling on it, as tears threatened to escape his eyes.  
  
"Your father and I never got along, but Lily was always by my side, even when she was dating him at the end of our sixth year. By our seventh year, I had become entangled in the web of lies that Voldemort had created, and we drifted apart, until, one day, we were no longer friends.  
  
"We didn't talk for months, but I can remember being so happy when she invited me to her wedding. She hadn't forgotten me. Once again she saved me. The very night of her wedding, I went to Albus, and told him everything I knew. I started visiting your mother in secret, no one knew of our meetings. No one but Dumbledore.  
  
"I was with her when you were born. James was in Egypt. He didn't know anything. I can remember her saying, as she held you in her arms, 'I guess you are pleased, Sev, it's a boy. And he's named Harold. After your father.' I was so happy. I felt that for once in my life, something was right. I had a godson, and Voldemort hadn't been heard from in over three months."  
  
At this point, Harry cut in.  
  
"Sir, what about Sirius?"  
  
Snape still didn't look at him, but answered in a hollowed voice. "James didn't know about me, of course, and so when he later suggested that Sirius be your godfather, Lily agreed, and told me about it later, hoping I wouldn't be upset. I wasn't, though I didn't trust Sirius much.  
  
"I came to visit her every weekend, while James was out on business. Everything was going well. I thought that maybe, just maybe, Voldemort had decided to give up trying to attack people against his 'cause', and perhaps he was planning on moving elsewhere. He hadn't attacked anyone in over three months. It was too good to be true.  
  
"One night, I was with him after a meeting, and he told me of his plan to kill the Potters. I went directly to Dumbledore after I was dismissed, and the Fidelius Charm was put in place that very night. I couldn't go and visit Lily, for the charm would allow no one, not even their dearest friends, to find them.  
  
"For a few weeks, I waited for Voldemort to kill me, for I thought he would. He knew about the charm being up, and I was the only one who could have forewarned the Potters. But he never killed me. He never harmed me or threatened me.   
  
"On Samhain, however, Voldemort told me that a friend of the Potters had disclosed their position. I wanted nothing more than to tell Dumbledore, but Voldemort told me that the attack was to take place in twenty minutes and I was to go alongside him. In my place as his 'right hand man'." Here, Snape's voice was filled with self-loathing, and he pounded the ground beside him with a clenched fist.  
  
"I went, thinking I could stop it but I couldn't, though I tried. He killed James and had his wand pointed at Lily, who was standing in your room, just a foot away from your crib.  
  
"I stepped in front of her, and told her to pick up Harry. I kept my mask on, and lowered my voice, hoping Voldemort wouldn't recognize me for who I truly was. I told him that I loved her, trying to make it sound like she was my lover. Voldemort thought I was Jackson Zabini, and called me a traitor. He pointed his wand at me, and said 'Avada Kedavra.'  
  
"I thought I would die, but Lily pulled herself in front of me, lightening fast, and pushed you into my arms, just as the curse hit her."  
  
Harry could hold his tears no longer, and they coursed down his face as heart-wrenching sobs erupted from his chest. He felt strong arms close around him, and he fell into them, sobbing uncontrollably. Strong hands stroked his hair and his back. Harry wrapped his arms around the professor, and wasn't surprised to feel salty tears dropping onto his forehead, and slipping down his face, mingling with his own tears, and wetting the gray sweatshirt he was wearing, and the chest of the man he was pressed against.  
  
When his sobbing subsided and Harry was only left with tears trailing down his face, Snape let go of him gently, and lay back down again. Without thinking, Harry lay down as well, and buried his face into Snape's side. Evidently startled, Snape turned sideways so that Harry's face was resting against his chest. Snape wrapped an arm over the boy's chest and lay his other arm under the boy's head.  
  
Harry closed his eyes and drifted off, his eyes swollen and red, but a slight smile on his lips.  
  
  
  
  
  
They cry in the dark, so you can't see their tears  
They hide in the light, so you can't see their fears  
Forgive and forget, all the while  
Love and pain become one and the same  
In the eyes of a wounded child  
  
Because Hell  
Hell Is For Children  
And you know that their little lives can become such a mess  
Hell  
Hell Is For Children  
And you shouldn't have to pay for your love with your bones and your flesh  
  
It's all so confusing, this brutal abusing  
They blacken your eyes, and then apologize  
You're daddy's good girl, and don't tell mommy a thing  
Be a good little boy, and you'll get a new toy  
Tell grandma you fell off the swing  
  
Because Hell  
Hell Is For Children  
And you know that their little lives can become such a mess  
Hell  
Hell Is For Children  
And you shouldn't have to pay for your love with your bones and your flesh  
  
No, Hell Is For Children  
  
Hell  
Hell is for Hell  
Hell is for Hell  
Hell Is For Children  
  
Hell  
Hell is for Hell  
Hell is for Hell  
Hell Is For Children  
  
Hell  
Hell is for Hell  
Hell is for Hell  
Hell Is For Children  
  
Hell Is For Children  
Hell Is For Children 


End file.
